


A Doctor, a Mechanic, and a Baby Try to Survive the Zombie Apocalypse.

by freshfettuccine



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Based on a Tumblr Post, I Don't Even Know, Inspired by The Walking Dead, M/M, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-05-06 00:45:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14630502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshfettuccine/pseuds/freshfettuccine
Summary: A Doctor, a Mechanic, and a Baby Try to Survive the Zombie Apocalypse... huh. Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.Stephen Strange was never a very religious man, but when the dead rise up and start attacking the living, a man can only think...Although, these days, all Stephen thinks about is keeping his boyfriend and his son safe.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> UGH. I've tried to write this so many times! It's either turned out really bad, or it's been accidentally deleted... I'm so sorry that it took so long! If you're here from my tumblr post, ( @starkandfriends haH) I wanted to thank you! You guy's enthusiasm really inspired this fic, I'm sorry for keeping you waiting.

Two months ago, the news channels aired their last warnings.

Two months ago, the electricity and the water shut off. 

Two months ago, civilization crashed and burned, and Stephen evacuated New York with his two loved ones; Tony and Peter. 

You bet your ass it was a fight to get Tony to leave; the stubborn _douchebag_ hadn’t been outside of the city before, and he must have been freaked out to go. Tony won’t say that, but once again—they were so similar that Stephen saw right through him…

Stephen persisted and argued until he won the argument. They couldn’t stay there anymore, it was becoming more and more dangerous.

The second day, after the _“disease”_ spread worldwide, the highway was so packed that they sat still for hours. Everyone was leaving the city, it felt like half of the entire population was out there, on the highway… _listening, sitting, and waiting for answers._

At night, when everyone was still stopped, when the radios were all silent… People got out, mostly out of boredom- and they started talked to each other, started planning, spreading what little information that they had… It was still too surreal, and many of them couldn’t believe that this was the end. Stephen couldn’t wrap his mind around it. The thought was still dawning on him, as he read the bedtime story to his four-year-old son. 

_Oh, god. Peter. His poor baby._

Peter didn’t understand what was happening to the world, not really. Ever since this started, he hardly left either one of his parent’s side, often found hiding behind one of his fathers. He was just so confused and scared, and Stephen desperately wanted to comfort his little bug- but neither him nor Tony could even really explain it to him. They didn’t understand themselves, not for a long time. He missed his baby’s laugh and smile. He guessed that… the fear over-shadowed any hint of glee the small boy had. That thought hurt more than anything else.

Rhodey- or James, whichever you preferred- left New York with the Strange Family. He was a good friend of them both; an ex-soldier who was working at the same mechanic shop as Tony. He came along with a few friends- two women; Pepper and Christine, and a runaway teenager called Bruce. They were a friendly bunch, and the two groups agreed to travel together from the very start. Strength in numbers, they said.

Split into two cars, it was a little difficult to communicate- but it was okay. They had worse things to deal with, so no one dared complaining.

While they were stuck on the roads, the couple met two other families. Steve and Bucky- or, again, James- whichever you preferred… they were both in the army, and they had their two boys; Loki and Thor. They were a lot older than Peter, as Thor was fifteen and Loki was thirteen. 

They were certainly an… energetic bunch- but it was hard to dislike them. There was something so endearing about them. Steve and Bucky were equally brave and strong, but they were different in their own ways. Steve was more polite and proper, in a sense, while Bucky was slightly reclusive and very clever. They hardly let the two teenage boys out of their sight, (like any parent would be in this situation, Stephen definitely thought that he and Tony were the same way with Peter) and they didn’t mind very much. They knew what was going on. They might’ve known from the start, and maybe they just accepted it before anyone else did…

That was admirable, Stephen thought. If he was sure about anything, he was sure about those teenage boys. They were strong, and they were going to _make it._

Finally, there was Clint and Natasha. They were government workers, trying to keep everyone updated as they went, but the radio went silent two days ago. Now they were in the same place as everyone else. Clint was more laidback, and somewhat ditsier than his wife, as he seemed to take nothing seriously- and Nat seemed to take everything seriously, with her sarcastic sense of humor and quick wit… They were one of those “opposites make the best couples” types.

They had their twins; Wanda and Pietro. Wanda was a sweet, but timid little girl, with a heart of gold. She was often seen clutching her toy robot, staring at everything in fear. Pietro was more like his father, playful and carefree. He had chosen not to acknowledge the state of the world, as a way to cope with it all. 

Stephen couldn’t say that he blamed him… 

After that dark, confusing night, the four families planned to head north.

But lord knew what that meant. That could mean… Northern New York, or Maine, or _Canada-_

It was a guessing game, at that point.

Two nights later, while they were still on the road, New York City was bombed. It was a blur, and he couldn't recall much.

But... he remembered Bucky cursing under his breath, and he remembered hearing Pepper gasp. He remembered his son asking Tony about what it meant. 

He remembered Tony not having an answer.

\--

Now, two months in, and they resided in a camp, far away from the nearest city. It was tiny, tight-knit- set up by RVs and cars. No one was going to sleep in a tent- No one would take that chance. Every little noise set them on edge- If they were to try and sleep out in the open, it wouldn’t be a very good night’s rest…

The last two months have been straight out of a horror movie. Other friends, that they made along the way, have been torn apart or eaten by the dead. Christine- Dear, poor Christine had been bit. A man actually decided to... end his life, right in his car.

When Christine got bit, they didn’t know that it was a literal death sentence, until others told them along the way. Stephen had tried to treat her, for hours, he tried to keep her stable- but as she fell to the fever, she turned. 

Luckily, no one was near her, except for Stephen. 

He had to put her down, like she was a sick dog. 

A knife to the brain, it had to be the brain. 

Later that night, Steven sat in their little RV, staring down at his shaking, crimson covered hands, as Peter slept soundly beside them and Tony tried to coax him out of his traumatic thoughts. Tony’s words were soft and sweet, assuring him and cleaning him up.

_Dear lord, what would he do without Tony?_

Tony was the only one who kept him stable, these days- besides his little boy. He would be a wreck without them.

Stephen was the only doctor at camp, so that job kept him busy. He was patching up people left and right, it seemed! It gave him some sort of stability, however, so he can’t complain. 

Tony was one of the few that left the camp frequently, along with Clint and Natasha. They went on these “runs”, searching for food or anything that they could need. The topic of scavenging was a hot topic- some in the camp found it to be uncivilized, and others found it to necessary to survive… Stephen didn’t really give a shit anymore. He didn’t care. 

It seems like… he had been repeating that phrase a lot lately, about a lot of things. It was kind of funny, in a way. Before the shit hit the fan, he would have bitched about not having enough sugar for his coffee, or traffic. 

Now, it feels like, all he cares about anymore is the group’s safety. 

Anything else that happens, happens.

His dreams were incoherent now. Before, his dreams were always lucid. They were often grounded in reality, or reliving memories. There used to be a reoccurring dream- it wasn’t an old memory, but it was a sweet idea. 

The dream was always in a cheap motel room. Tony and Stephen were always laying together in the small, rusty old bed. The atmosphere was always warm, always sweet.  
Tony was crying, every time. 

Every time Stephen had the dream, it broke his heart. Tony cried in that damaged, reserved way, where he was scared to show how heartbroken he really was. Silent tears flowed down his cheeks, chewing on his thumb to keep from sobbing out loud. 

It was because of his father, sometimes. Other times it was because of his mother’s death, or losing a friend, or from simply just… caving into the stress. 

It didn’t matter, in the end, because it always ended with Stephen holding him. Whispering sweet nothings, wrapping his significant other in a blanket, and talking to him throughout the night. It always ended with Tony smiling through his tears, comforted. 

It was a simple, kind of boring dream- but Stephen loved it. He didn’t know why. It made him happy, in a way. 

But now, it was gone. His dreams were blurry and zoned out, always black and white. It was always of the dead, or Christine, or New York getting bombed- 

_Stephen now hated sleeping._

He hated looking at Christine, bleeding out in the back of a green van. He hated seeing the dead man’s teeth sinking into Christine’s neck, the crimson red liquid spraying everywhere. 

He hated hearing the screams. 

That night was no different, waking up multiple times in the night to check on his family. Peter slept in the same bed as his dads, now. Stephen didn’t mind, as there was only one big bed in the RV, and the little boy was too scared to be away from them… 

Stephen was comforted by it, every time he woke up in a cold sweat. He’d look to the right, and there would be Tony, snoring loudly and drooling on his pillow like an idiot. In the middle, was their little boy, sucking his thumb in his sleep.

The sight instantly calmed him, but this morning- they weren’t there. They weren't there.

No, no, no…

There was no shock, or surprise. His mind instantly went to the worst possible ‘what-ifs’, fear spiking in his chest. Panic, fear, intense sadness- it was a familar feelings, these days, but this time, it was like he got hit with the emotions-bus. In his mind, the paranoid thoughts were already a reality. _Before_ , he wouldn't consider himself a very emotional person... but now. Now, he felt like an absolute trainwreck.

_It can’t be, lord, no, it can’t be._

_Please. Not them._

“Ton – Tony? Tony? Peter? Bug?”

His voice was shaky; revealing how terrified he really was. 

“Hey, baby! ‘M out here.”

_Yes!_

_That voice. That damn voice._

He never thought he’d be so thankful to hear his voice. 

Stephen practically ran out of the RV, encountering Tony- with Peter on his hip- talking to Rhodey and Pepper. He stepped away for a moment, getting close to his lover. He must have seen the look on Stephen’s face.

“You scared me.”

Stephen’s voice was barely above a whisper, staring at his whole _world_ with immense love. That's the only way he could describe it. Love.

“Sorry, honey. You were still sleeping in, for once, and I thought you deserved to stay that way. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Tony murmured, kissing Stephen’s cheek. They saw right through each other- communicating with their eyes. Their gaze said everything that they couldn’t.

_'I thought you were gone, I thought I've lost you.'_

_'It's okay, we're here. We won't leave you.'_

“It’s alright, I’m sorry for freaking out.”

The other shook his head, reaching over and squeezing Stephen’s shaking hand. 

“You want breakfast, baby?”

Stephen nodded, sighing softly. It was time to put it past himself… It was all okay...

“Yeah, yeah… What’re we having?”


	2. Holding Onto Blind Fate.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are different, now, and the group learns the hard way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is like... a mini plot-point in the long run, but it's essential to the group's development. Get emotionally ready for some losses, Stephen overthinking, and poor baby Peter not understanding the mess around him.

“Tony…” 

Stephen prompted, tucking their four-year-old son into bed. He was already passed out, but Stephen always made sure to cover him with blankets and set the child’s favorite stuffed animal next to him. Just in case. Peter was having nightmares a lot lately, and the toy helped calmed him down. It was nothing more than a little black cat, filled with the fake-stuffing, but it had been Peter’s favorite since he was an infant.

“Tony.” 

Stephen repeated; this time a little more firmly, looking over to his long-term boyfriend. Tony wasn’t listening to him at all, the _asshole._

“Tony, you need to sleep. Come here.”

Tony still didn’t respond, still staring down at the little handgun. He was trying to reassemble it- they had found it in a little ( _obviously abandoned_ ) gas station, hidden behind a bunch of expired drinks. It had been completely taken apart, but Tony was confident in putting it back together. It was like a puzzle, but… It took time. And Tony wasn’t ready to go to bed until he finished. They could always use more guns; the little camp only had about six.

_Seriously. Stephen thought he was a literal child sometimes._

“It’s late.”

Stephen tried, climbing into bed, still staring at the other. It was strange for Tony to be this quiet, but then again… he got weird when he was focused on something. He was always like this, even before-- once Tony started working on anything he was passionate about-- he was gone, until he was satisfied. Stephen often had to drag him away to sleep or for food. 

Eventually, Stephen got annoyed; he picked up a pillow and chucked it at Tony’s head. It bounced off the mechanic’s body, actually getting his attention this time.

“Hey, _douchebag—"_

Stephen teased, smirking at the other in a challenging way. Tony simply… looked up with raised eyebrows, showing only a hint of a smile.

“It’s time for bed, _Stark_.”

The nicknames were used affectionately, making both of them break out into full-on grins. Tony reluctantly sat up, making his way over to the bed, grabbing the pillow on the way. 

“I love you, you stubborn ass.”

Tony snapped in response, tossing the pillow back over to Stephen. Of course, the doctor caught it with a devilish, cocky smile, laying back onto the bed with a quiet huff. 

It was a little odd; I mean, the end of the world happened… they abandoned their home, they were cut off from the rest of the world-- But they were still teasing each other to no end, like nothing ever happened.

_It was just the way they were._

“I love you too, dummy.”

Stephen mumbled, finally snuggled into the bed. He always waited for Tony. It just… felt better that way. More natural. 

\--

Normally, in their camp, there was someone on watch. They would trade off, usually every three hours—it’s just the way it had to be, nowadays. That night was no different, but disaster struck fast and hard. Pepper and Clint were on watch, trying to look over their camp, but their structure was flawed. Everything was too spaced out-- too many blind spots.

The fence around their little site was weak, and the look-out cars were scattered all around. 

They thought they were safe. 

Only two hours later, the couple and the baby woke up to the sound of two screams. There was a little girl’s, so everyone was instantly fearful of Wanda’s fate. It was almost immediately another- one of a little boy, probably Pietro.

Both Tony and Stephen jumped up—Tony grabbed the small handgun that they kept under the bed, and bolting out of the RV, towards the sound of the screams. Always the hero, that one... 

Stephen turned back to Peter, grabbing a long knife, and a half-empty gun. Their ammo supply was _atrocious…_

The little boy’s eyes were wide and fearful, clutching onto his toy. It nearly broke Stephen’s heart, but he didn’t have the time to comfort Peter. Not when the camp was potentially falling apart.

“Peter, come here, now—” 

Stephen said, and the young boy did exact as told, albeit reluctantly. Stephen picked the boy up, balancing him on his hip. He was debating his options, but also giving his baby some sort of comfort.

As the doctor thought up a plan, he could hear the distinctly unique call from the dead. Groans, cries—they were a lot, all in their camp, and Stephen was trying to figure out what to do on the spot. Should he leave Peter in the bathroom, keeping him silent—

Or does he take him outside, to keep Peter with him?

“Stephen!” 

He could hear someone yell, and there was no more time to think about his actions. Someone needed his help.

Stephen ran out the door, still holding his baby close. 

And he was greeted to the site of the dead. Maybe… thirty feet away, were the flesh-eating _parasites_ , feeding on a body. It was too dark, so Stephen couldn’t make out any of the features. If he were to be selfishly honest, this was a good thing. He didn’t have time to mourn.

_He needed to find Tony!_

“Stephen!”

Someone repeated, and he now recognized it coming from Pepper. 

The redhead ran up to the two, her pajamas sprayed with old, dark blood. It thankfully wasn’t her own, and it certainly didn’t come from anyone alive. There was a moment of shock, coming from Stephen. Somehow… It made the situation real for him, and that really _sucked._

“What—What happened?”

Stephen sputtered, holding his knife with one hand, and keeping Peter secure with the other. 

“They found our camp, I don’t know how—have you seen Rhodey?” 

“No, but get the trucks ready, I think—I think we need to leave.”

Stephen said, tossing her the keys and handing Peter over to her. Unfortunately, there was a protest.

“No, no, Papa, no—” 

The child screamed, reaching out for his father. Peter rarely threw fits; he was widely described as a quiet kid—but when he did throw fits, it was always bad. Stephen could probably remember… eight bad fits throughout Peter’s life. Of course, the kid pouted—all kids pouted—but he seldom threw tantrums.

And Peter seemed to have the worst timing. 

It was only drawing attention to them—attention from the dead. 

As one dead woman approached, Stephen stabbed it right through the eyes. It was quick and clean—he didn’t think about it anymore. 

Killing the dead wasn’t the same as killing the living, he convinced himself. 

_What really bothered him, was that Peter didn’t seem so affected by killing the walker._

“Baby, stay with Ms. Pepper, okay? Please? She’ll keep you safe, I have to find your dad—”

Peter kicked his legs and cried, but Pepper, being an absolute _saint_ , ran towards the car, holding the boy close. 

Over the last few months, the camp members grew increasingly closer. He would trust Peter’s life in the hands of only a few; and Pepper was one of them. 

He put faith in Pepper and took a deep breath. Peter would be okay. 

Peter would be okay. 

Forcing himself to focus on something else, Stephen quickly took down two more of the dead, making his way closer to the origin of the sounds. A girl crying, a older male cursing—a young boy, calling out for his dad—

Stephen was quickly getting overwhelmed, but he was trying his hardest to push all of those feelings aside. 

Stephen had only killed a handful of walkers, before that night. One of them being Christine… 

_No, no. Not now, Stephen. Now is not the time to reflect. Now is not the time to overthink._

Making his way closer to the source of cries, Stephen dodged numerous dead men, deciding to not take too many on. He wasn’t going to act cocky, besides—he needed to preserve his energy. 

Finally, he saw the little girl. _Wanda._

She was trapped in one of the lookout cars, sobbing near-hysterically, while five of the dead surrounded the machine.

The lookout cars were used for nothing more than checkpoints, or storage sites. They used them like that because… they were pretty much useless, to be honest. They couldn’t run, so Tony stripped them and got all the useful parts. 

Stephen looked down at his blade, and then his gun. 

The sound would surely draw more unwanted attention to them, but how does he deal with all five of them, with only a kitchen blade?   
He took the chance. They’ll just have to make a damn run for it…

_They could do it. They had to..._

Raising his gun, Stephen started to shoot. One by one, they fell to the ground—but the groans and the cries got louder, ringing in his ear, nonstop.

His vision was blurry, but he dove to the driver’s side of the door and opened it, revealing Wanda, clutching her robot doll and sobbing.

“Wanda, c’mere, Wanda, we need to go!”

“Pietro, Pietro—” 

Was all the little girl said, her accented-voice shaking and sputtering. And then... the thought seemed to hit him over the head. 

The body—The body that... the dead were eating. _It wasn’t Pietro, was it?_

The thought made his stomach flip. 

They were only nine. _Nine._

The little boy, oh dear god—and… and Wanda would have to live with that. 

No, no, Stephen! He mentally slapped himself, looking around for any surprises. No one knows that for sure…

“Come here, Wanda. We have to go find your mom and dad—” 

Stephen’s voice was shaky and uneven, but he was not going to leave her. Even if the dead were closing in. 

Wanda hiccupped and cried, and Stephen lost patience. He got it, the little girl was frozen in fear; but the dead were approaching, and they needed to go. 

He reached into the little broken-down car, pulling the small child out, and practically tossing her over his shoulder. He started sprinting through the trees, Wanda’s cries and the dead’s groans ringing in his ear. 

He purposefully avoided the dead body and the feasting walkers, in case it really _was_ the little girl’s twin brother. She didn’t need to see that. 

“Pietro… Pietro…”

The little girl sniffled pitifully, making Stephen’s heart clench. Along with everything Stephen was freaking out about, he’s trying to avoid thinking about Peter and Tony. He can’t. He needs to focus on getting Wanda to safety and tracking down others.

“Peter? Pepper?” 

Stephen called out, running up to the familiar green truck. It was the one hooked up to the RV, so most planned to go to that one, in case of an emergency. Except… there was no plan, not really. No one knew what to do, and now they were paying for it. 

When he found the truck empty, his stomach immediately dropped. 

Wanda had stopped squirming in his grasp, but she was still sobbing and sniffling. 

He didn’t mind it. He didn’t blame her. 

Stephen was about to turn around and search somewhere else, when the door of the RV swung open, revealing Bruce Banner. 

“Get in, get in!” 

He yelled, his voice shrill and high, having to yell over the sound of the dead.

“But—But, Pepper and Peter!” 

“They’re in here! C’mon!”

The teenager yelled, looking around at the surrounding dead creatures. They were closing in…

Without a second thought, Stephen ran in, still holding onto a bawling Wanda. Looking around, he spotted Thor, Pepper, Rhodey, and Peter.

Words could not _describe_ the joy he felt when he spotted the little boy. His baby was okay, he told himself, trying to calm his overwhelming anxiety. 

Gently setting the little girl down, Stephen ran up to the little boy and held him. Peter had very clearly been crying, his eyes red and his face swollen, his nose dripping with snot.

“Pa—Papa.”

The baby whimpered, wrapping his small arms around Stephen’s neck. 

“It’s okay, Bug. I’m here. It’s okay.”

Stephen looked to the side, looking to Wanda. Pepper was holding her in a comforting, maternal fashion, whispering gentle words to the scared little girl. 

The girl hiccupped into Pepper’s shirt, and Stephen looked around to the two teenage boys and Rhodey. The former soldier was whispering to the two older boys… Maybe he was explaining what happened? Oh, it didn't matter... Not yet.

Stephen embraced his son, holding back his own tears. 

He refused to think about the fate of the others. Right now, all he wanted to do was comfort his son and Wanda. They were the ones that needed to be calmed, not him. 

_Keep it together, Stephen._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the little cliffhanger, haha-- Hope you're not too mad at me. Please leave comments and feedback, I literally live off of them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunion, Tony being a good boy, and Peter being the sweetest kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This fic is in Tony's POV, for once. I thought it would be an interesting change. Anyways, I hope this doesn't suck! I struggled with it quite a bit, and that's why it took forever. Please,,, , continue to feed me with comments,,, , I need them,, ,

It had been two hours since the gunshots rang throughout the camp, and the ex-mechanic couldn’t stop thinking about it. Even though Steve, Clint, Bucky and Loki had already all brushed it off, like it wasn’t the scariest thing to happen that night. Tony didn’t see how they could—there was _five_ shots, and the group had long since agreed to not fire their guns; unless it was absolutely necessary. 

Like… _‘surrounded by the dead’_ serious.

_Who’s getting surrounded? Are they okay?_

His thoughts were clouded with fear for his entire family—I mean, of course they were, Tony had no idea what happened after he ran out to find the sources of the screams. He had barely left his spot in the green RV, sitting on the cheap couch and staring at the rickety doorway. A part of him was expecting for Stephen and Peter to come bursting through; they’d reunite with a hug, and probably even shed a few tears as well—but his loved ones would be okay, and then they’d drive away from this nightmare and _everyone would be okay—_

Without even noticing it, tears began to sting at his eyes. 

Thank god everyone was wrapped up in their own shock to notice or comment Tony’s state-- that, or… everyone saw, and they just weren’t saying anything; for Tony’s ego’s sake. 

It didn’t matter. Not really. Besides, it was only a few tears, _no big deal…_

Quickly, the man wiped at his eyes and chewed on his thumbnail. It had recently joined the long list of _Tony Stark’s Bad Habits,_ after the world came crashing down. At least it was better than _drinking_ or something, but nowadays he could only describe his nails as gross. It wasn’t that big of a deal, he obviously had worse things to think about… but it always nagged him. 

He could hear Bucky call out for him, but Tony didn’t respond. He was still frozen, staring, _waiting_ for his family. 

“Tony,” Bucky repeated, reaching out to gently touch the mechanic’s shoulder. 

“I gotta go find them. I… left them. I left. I can’t believe I…”

Tony croaked out, standing up hastily. He hoped his fear wasn’t too obvious, but… judging by the look on the soldier’s face—

His terrified state was as clear as day. 

“No, Tony… not yet, they’re everywhere—"

“ _Thor’s not here!_ How could you even say that, when Thor isn’t here?”

Tony snapped at the other, falling out of his dazed state, only for it to be replaced with seething anger towards the other survivors. Maybe he was being too harsh, sure... He liked the Rogers family—but he was emotional and scared and feeling selfish. 

It had quite obviously affected Bucky—a shocked flash of complete shock coming across his naturally worn and tired features. 

If it were any other day, Tony would’ve felt guilty. Instead, he kept bashing the other. 

“You should understand. How are you even sitting here? He could be—”

“Don’t snap at him, he was just trying to--” 

Steve interjected, scowling at the other. Of course, he had to butt-in. _Asshole_. He had to play the peacekeeper, just too look good— He really got on Tony’s nerves, even in the worse situations.

“Steve, really, it’s okay—” Bucky insisted, but was interrupted.

“I’ll go too.”

Clint spoke up for the first time since they arrived, his eyes red and puffy from silent tears. Tony met his gaze, and suddenly it felt like he was punched in the chest. 

He had watched Pietro—His own son-- go down, and then, he was forced to be separated from Natasha and Wanda; after the dead kept pouring into their camp, Tony dragged him away.

Oh, Barton...

Suddenly, Tony felt like the biggest asshole of the century. His selfish tendencies were pushed to the side, and he was finally starting to see things as they really were.

“You’d get overrun if you went out alone. I’ll come with, I’m sure we could be alright. If we’re smart enough…”

Clint must be in the exact same place Tony was, mentally. Probably way _worse._

All he could offer was a sympathetic glance, but the ex-government agent seemed to get the message. 

“You shouldn’t—” 

Steve tried again, but both Clint and Tony were already grabbing weapons. They were unexpectedly connected—both stubborn and confident in their own ways. The two had the same goal; and were determined to getting each other to said aspiration…

“We’re not waiting anymore, Boss Man.” 

Tony finally decided, looking to Bucky. He expected an argument, but there was none. 

He was finally in sync, but Steve still wasn’t having it. 

“They’re everywhere—”

“Shut up, Rogers. You’re not my mom.”

Clint hissed, snatching the long, metal hammer from the small counter. Tony simply turned the small gun over in his hands, ready to get out and find answers. There was about two hundred feet distance between the two RVs—which didn’t sound like too much, but it was now quite daunting, considering their current situation…

_Why did they ever space things out like that-- what was the purpose? Privacy? That seemed ridiculous now..._

“What are you doing, Steve? _Sitting here_? We can’t do that. We can’t just sit here.”

Tony tried to explain, keeping his assertive glare directed at Steve.

He slowly traced over his extra blade on his belt, which he routinely carried around with him. He had adapted to do that quite a while ago, but now he just did it for comfort. It was reassuring, in a way, to feel the deadly objects on his belt.

“I’m struggling to start up the damn RV, because a certain mechanic won’t do anything about it!”

Steve snapped back, and Bucky sighed. 

“Both of you, calm down. We can work this out.”

Bucky started to reason with the two angry alpha males; but Tony didn’t bother listening. He was too focused on studying Loki, who was silently staring through the curtains. 

The kid had noticed something but wasn’t sharing. He hadn’t shared all night.

“Hey.”

Tony called out, turning the focus to the naturally cunning teenager. 

“What happened?”

There was a pause, but Loki didn’t look hesitant to talk. He looked tired. And scared. He didn’t know what to say, and Tony understood. 

“Someone set off a flare... It’s leading them away.”

The kid said, in a fake calm manner. _Who was he trying to impress?_ His big brother wasn’t here… It irritated Tony to no end; but there was no use in arguing with a kid.

“What?”

Clint’s snapped around to face Loki; undeniable hope in his voice, and the agent’s next words actually gave Tony a sense of relief for the other.

“Natasha has flares—she… she snatched them from out bosses’ office, he was a real nutcase, had survivalist gear everywhere—”

Clint said, running over to the window. Sure enough; over the trees, something glowed bright red, and it was indeed attracting the dead away from their campsite. 

Without another word, Clint bolted out the door, and Tony followed with no question.

\--

The pair spent far too long dodging trees and the dead, searching aimlessly for any of their camp mates in the dark. Of course, Tony was reluctant to return to the site of where Pietro died—for Clint’s sake, how could you look at the mutilated corpse of your own son? That seemed horrifying to Tony.

But the area was unavoidable, especially since they saw the familiar redheaded woman looming over what was left of the small child. It was undoubtedly the most disgusting, horrible sight; and a parent shouldn’t see their child like that. 

“Hey, hey, Clint—”

Tony murmured, trying to grab the other’s arm, but he missed. It was still late into the night, and he wasn’t exactly depending on his sight.

Damn. That guy was fast. Within a second, the blonde man was beside his wife, a choked sob escaping his mouth. 

The next several minutes were a blur for Tony. He didn’t listen to Clint or Natasha; it was their moment, and Tony wasn’t just going to _eavesdrop._

Instead, he looked out for the pair, and watched for the dead. He tried to push his own concerns to the side, just for a moment. He spent hours, and soon… it was sunrise. It had been around _nine hours_ since this started, but it felt like five minutes. He thinks he’s just… sat there for about four of the hours, though. Which was completely hypocritical to his outburst earlier, but Tony wasn’t even mad anymore.

He couldn’t explain why he sat there for as long as he did. He just… knew that Clint and Natasha needed to mourn, and he wasn’t going to take that away from them. But he also wasn’t going to let them get snuck up on.

After a while, Clint turned to the other. Tony was simply sitting on the ground, watching the area around them. Luckily, most of the dead was still attracted to the flare, which was still burning away.   
Only a few came stumbling by; but Tony was far past fearing them. 

They were always taken care of, and everything went back into place. The parents mourned, the birds chirped, and Tony tried to stop freaking out about his family’s fate. Or, at least, tried to swallow it down, for the time being.

“Tony.” 

Clint choked out, and the former mechanic looked back to the grieving couple.

“Yeah?”

“Go. Find your family, man.”

The man hesitated, looking around. He didn’t want them to be snuck up on…

“Are you sure…?”

“Please.” Natasha finally spoke, and her pleading gaze was enough to convince Tony.

“Of course. If you need anything, you know…”

“Yeah.” 

Clint forced a soft smile, and it felt like Tony was stabbed through the heart. 

It made him realize how close he had become with the other camp mates…

\--

It only took a few moments to approach the RV, since it was no longer dark, and the dead were no longer everywhere, but he found himself freezing up.

What was he going to see, he wondered?

Was he going to see his boyfriend and his son, alive and safe? Or was he going to walk into something disastrous? He almost… didn’t want to open the door, if that makes any sense. 

He didn’t want the bad news to come.

He didn’t want to hear Peter or Stephen’s cries. It wasn’t because he didn’t care—no, of course he cared, but it would tear him apart, just as Clint and Natasha were.

Would he walk in to find nothing? His whole world would be crushed, with a simple, _“Tony, I’m so sorry”_ —he wouldn’t be able to deal with it.

Without noticing it, Bruce peaked out the window once more, spotting the mechanic. He was still just freezing, _staring_ at the door, deep in thought. Going over all the “what if’s”, biting down on his bottom lip until he tasted the coppery taste of blood.

He knows. _Gross._

However, before he could take a deep breath and work up the courage to open the door, it swung open; and someone _threw_ themselves into Tony’s arms.

“Tony, Tony—oh my god— You’re here! You’re okay-”

Stephen gasped out, the other trembling in the mechanic’s arms. Stephen was dirtier than he had ever seen him; covered in old blood and grime, when normally he was perfectly pristine. (even in the ‘end of the world situation’.) It didn’t matter; Tony was sure that he was filthy as well. His arms were tight around the doctor, unable to say anything. He simply stared right into Stephen’s anxious blue eyes, trying to focus on his boyfriend’s incoherent babbling.

That’s when Peter appeared in the doorway, looking as timid as the small boy usually did. He was clutching onto his toy, his soft brown eyes wide with fear.

“Baby…”

Tony whispered, forcing himself to pull away from his boyfriend’s warm and safe embrace, to approach the four-year-old boy. 

“Peter,” Tony said slowly, pausing when he realized how scary he must look. Before he could do anything else, he dropped the long knife, and slowly kneeled in front of his son. “Peter, sweetheart, it’s okay now.”

“Dada…” Peter sniffled, throwing his small arms around the mechanics neck, sobbing out loud. “Daddy!”

Without hesitation, the father embraced Peter, and he finally felt the hot tears drip down his cheeks. He suspected that he had started to cry when he held Stephen for the first time after this entire event, but he had full on started to sob when he held his son. His family was safe, and everything was _alright._

_The world really wasn’t over._

The next few hours were what Tony would call the "reconstruction hours".

Families reunited, tears were shed, and it was just another massive blur for Tony. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from his family. He had his arm tightly around Stephen’s waist, keeping him close. 

Peter was on the doctor’s hip, holding onto his toy. His family was safe. His family was _here._

Tony _did_ pay attention to Clint and Natasha’s reunion with Wanda, though. It was hard not to. As soon as the pair made their way to the RV, there was a loud cry from the inside, and a little girl sprang out, running to her parents wither her arms outstretched.

“Папа! Мама!” 

She yelled, and Tony felt a surge of happiness. Both Clint and Nat ran to the young girl, circling her into a tight bear hug. The reunion seemed to push the trio to tears, mumbling reassuring words to each other. Tony couldn’t understand, he guessed they were talking to each other in Russian. For privacy or for comfort, who knew—

It just made Tony so… happy. They’ve been through too much. They deserved good things. 

Even though they had lost a family member, they still had each other.

And for that, Tony was grateful. He was grateful to have his own family, and for Clint to have his daughter and his wife. 

\--

After a while, everyone sat in the red RV. It was a tight fit, sure. But no one wanted to be outside right now. The random dead bodies littered around, and it was hot out that day; the _stench_ was too much for anyone to handle. 

So, they sat there in the vehicle, silent for quite a while. Everyone was mourning Pietro, Tony realized—as he looked at Stephen, he spotted that look in his eyes. He had that look when Christine died, where he was almost… lost. In a way. 

Tony leaned in, bringing a hand up to lace his fingers through Stephen’s. He needed to bring him back...

The doctor jumped, clearly shocked, but a small smile graced his lips. It was one of the most beautiful sights.

“Hey.” 

Tony grinned, quickly glancing down at the sleeping boy on Tony’s lap. He looked back up at his boyfriend, who was still grinning softly.

“Hi.”

Stephen hummed, placing a gentle kiss to the other’s lips. 

Everything is going to get better, the gesture seemed to say.

And Tony full heartedly believed that now. 

\--

“We should go soon; the second flare is going out.”

Bucky spoke up, looking out the window. He had barely separated with his two sons and his husband, much like Tony.

The simple statement sparked up reluctant conversation, suggestions varying from “The mid-west” to “We occupy the little abandoned shopping mall and turn it into a little town”. 

No one could really agree on anything, but everyone knew that they couldn’t stay there. 

So, they set up step one:

_Pietro’s funeral._

It was a quick service; it had to be; they had to go as soon as possible, but Tony thinks they did a decent job for their time frame. They set up the grave next to Christine, and the ceremony was pretty much silent. 

Tony thought… that was more _meaningful_ , in a way. Everything that needed to be said… it was just _there_. Everyone was already thinking the same thing. 

After a while passed, people dispersed to pack everything up. With the obvious exception of Clint, Natasha, and Wanda. They needed to mourn more, and everyone clearly understood. 

They narrowed everything down into three cars and the two RVs.

After this, the group packed up, and the group started their newest adventure, much closer, but less optimistic than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS: comics!clint is the most iconic, underrated boy we've ever seen,,, anyways. In this fic Clint and Natasha raised Wanda and Pietro in Russia for a few years, hence their accents and Wanda calling them mother and father in Russian. Also I used a translator, so it might be off. Hah. Anyways, feedback and suggestions are encouraged!
> 
> PPS: Tony thinking about how dirty Stephen is can take a shocking turn for the BETTER


	4. Thor and Bruce's Misadventure, Part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five months after Pietro's death, the group temporarily settles into a farm house, but Bruce has other plans. Thor, of course, decides to go with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOOOOLY CRAP YOU GUYS.
> 
> I am so sorry. Please forgive me.  
> I hope you haven't all forgotten about this fic, and i certainly hope you're not angry with me, hah,,
> 
> I went into a huge slump after school ended, and motivation was insanely low, and then i had vacation, yadah yadah... Anyways, I really hope this makes up for it. I was going to have their misadventure be in one part, but as i started to write it-- it quickly dawned on me that it would take a long time, and i didn't want to keep anyone waiting for any longer. I missed you guys, I missed this fic, and I hope to get back into the groove of things soon! 
> 
> ps, I hope to bring in the guardians and the defenders soon-- or atleast give them a cameo. whaddya think?

If there was one thing everyone agreed on, it was that their sense of humanity had run thin. Everyone knew it, but no one wanted to admit it. 

Their time on the road just _did_ that to them. 

No one argued about scavenging now. Thor remembered his father, Steve, saying that it was immoral to do such a thing, in the beginning of this mess. He remembered him  
arguing about it with the other camp members, (especially Tony) but no one argued anymore. Definitely for the better, but still seemed odd to him…

They just couldn’t hold onto that stuff anymore. They couldn’t hold onto that _mindset_. The whole debate on scavenging nearly tore the group apart; but now it was a necessity for their survival.

Every day, the group drove around for miles. Like they had a destination; but the truth is—

They didn’t. No one had an idea on where to go. 

And, honestly, Thor hated being on the road. He missed being comfortable, and he missed real sleep—

But, then again, he hadn’t gotten real sleep since this started, but he missed _trying._

He just missed having a place to call home, even if it was a little campsite.

The teenager didn’t know if anyone else shared this thought. Each time he thought about asking, it felt as if something was holding him back. Truthfully, he feared coming off in the wrong way. He didn’t want people to think he was losing hope, in a way. He was the naïve, optimistic teenager, always assuring the others. He didn’t want his family to worry about him, they had more than enough on their plates.

-

If they weren’t driving, they were staying in old, long forgotten homes; eating whatever was hunted that night, and always looking over their shoulders.  
All they did was _survive._

Everybody had their hands dirty, with the obvious exception of Wanda and Peter. But even they were exposed to things no child should witness.

Thor dreamt of the twenty walkers he had to kill over the span of nine or ten months. Sure, doesn’t sound like much, compared to his parents, or the other group members, but it was to Thor. Every time he was forced to put them down, the same thoughts wormed their way into his head.

_What was their name? What were they, before they died? Were they good people? Does anyone else feel guilty, sinking a blade into their skull? HOW COULD ANYONE DO THIS? What is WRONG with me?_

-

He was so drained, tired of being out in the open. At the very least, he wanted to find a camp—Somewhere familiar and warm. 

But… looking at his little brother, Thor knew he felt the same. Loki hardly spoke anymore; and if he did, it was to their fathers or Thor himself. Sometimes, Thor would see Loki trying—especially with Clint and Natasha, but he had become quieter and reserved. 

Which maybe wasn’t a terrible thing now, in this world, but it still made Thor worry. 

He would catch his younger sibling _hiding._

It was something Loki did, even as a baby, but for months, he was doing it almost every day.

His fathers told the story a few times, always bringing a sense of comfort when they needed it the most. ( _They traded stories all the time, over meals or when the others had trouble sleeping. The tales, strangely, never got old. It was probably because of the nostalgia…_ ) Thor’s favorite was Two-Year-Old Loki, falling asleep under his crib, while they were supposed to be playing hide and seek. Both fathers had turned the house upside down, trying to find the toddler. It was an iconic old story. 

Fun fact: Bucky and Steve both still had baby pictures of their sons in their wallets, and it was the same for Stephen and Tony. Baby pictures were held in the RV; it was just a belonging no one could part with.

He supposed Loki was still hiding now; probably up in a tree or lingering around. Thor wasn’t worried about the kid, honestly—Loki would never wander far. He just didn’t have it in him. Thor suspected he walked around their temporary camps, guarding in his own funny way. 

He himself was just waking up, having one of the guard duties last night. It was already two or three in the afternoon, and everyone was too busy to notice he had slept in. That was one of the best things about night shifts; you didn’t have to do much the next day. No one expected you to help prepare food or help with any of the other chores… 

Usually, he’d help anyways, but today he wasn’t in the mood. 

Bruce had been up with him all night, but he was acting strangely, and odd behavior like that always worried Thor. Especially with him. 

Over the last few months, Thor and Bruce slowly grew close, although Bruce remained somewhat private about himself. 

In, all honesty, the blonde had liked the older teen. _Like-Liked_ him.

A part of him felt… angry, or guilty for these feelings, like—he shouldn’t be having them. Not in this world. 

_(But when he looked at his parents, or even Stephen and Tony—he liked to think it was still… possible? Maybe.)_

He wouldn’t dare act on these feelings, even if he didn’t carry this guilt. Bruce was a very reserved person; like he was afraid to get too attached to others. When this started, he was so shy that he barely talked to people other than Pepper, Christine, and Rhodey. 

Thor realized later, that the three adults were Bruce’s only parental figures, as Pepper was his foster mom, taking the older teenager into her home only months before the world went downhill. 

As much as Thor liked him, it seemed as if Bruce knew more about him, then he knew about Bruce. 

If that made any sense. 

However—What he did know about the other survivor, he liked. 

Bruce may seem rude with his silence; but he was one of the kindest, smartest people Thor had ever met. He was a complete dork, in the blonde’s opinion. 

His crush truly became serious, one night, only a few weeks ago. The group had wondered their way into a higher-end neighborhood, and yes, it was quite a strange place to stumble onto-- but, they were nearing closer to the city, ( _yet another weird decision, but they were growing desperate for simple supplies, such as medicine. They did end up finding things in medicine cabinets or drawers, though._ ) and the mansions seemed to be on the outer edge of the cities. Entering and clearing out the easiest accessible house, the group decided to stay the night in one of the upstairs rooms. They were well aware they had to lay low; the neighborhood looked deserted, but you never know. 

It was around midnight, when Thor awoke from nightmares. (It wasn’t uncommon anymore; it had gotten to the point where he was no longer scared of sleeping. He had to accept the fact that he’d always see the dead men, even in his dreams.) For a few minutes, he just sat there; looking around at his sleeping family, when he noticed the room across the hall wide open. 

Instinctually, of course, his immediate reaction was concern and fear; as they had all agreed on staying in the two bedrooms, just in case—and the room across the hall, was not one of the rooms they had agreed on. Looking for a moment, Thor could see the faint glow of an old flashlight, ( _one that definitely needed new batteries_ ) but nothing else. 

Thor never really was one to report the problem and stay safe as someone else solved it. It wasn’t in his blood. So, naturally…

He grabbed his switchblade, climbed out from under his sleeping bag, and made his way over to the unexplored area. His heart was pounding, and his head was going a mile a minute with the possibilities—What if they hadn’t cleared the home as thoroughly as they originally thought? What if his family or friends were hurt—or, worse. 

What he found was… anticlimactic, to say the least.

It was Bruce, huddled over a book, shining the flashlight across the pages; with a few more untouched pages surrounding him. He was focused, which was a significant contrast to Bruce’s usual behavior. He always seemed dreamy, in a way. Deep in thought.

Of course, Thor was relieved—but he was also overcome with… something akin to when you see a kitten, or a dog. _Innocent, pure love--?_

Thor sure as hell didn’t know. He had never had a crush like this before. 

It was never this real, this _deep._

Bruce was his first love; and, in their world, the thought was overwhelming. 

Walking over calmly, the blonde sat himself down on Bruce’s right side, making the older teenager jump and gasp. 

“Jesus—Christ, Thor!”

The look on the brunette’s face; brown eyes wide, eyebrows shot up and jaw hanging down in surprise.

“Sorry, Sorry,” 

Thor grinned, unable to hold back his quiet snickering. 

“Warn a guy, won’t you? I thought my heart was going to explode—”

Instead of a proper response, Thor only started to laugh louder.

They had whispered to each other; Bruce, talking about the books he had found, and how special they were to his early childhood—and Thor, delighted that he had gotten the other survivor to open up.

Neither of them noticed the black haired thirteen-year-old, _eavesdropping_ from the hallway.

That was the first night they stayed up together. Many nights were spent just like that-- whispering and sharing things with each other; usually, it was Thor’s secrets-- _like how, two years ago, he had spilled grape juice all over their old couch, and then blamed it on Loki._ They would share old candy they had found, comic books, old gadgets—or even, once, they had found old Tamagotchis; and, played ended up playing the thing until it inevitably ran out of battery.

That day, Thor planned on finding the other, hoping to be able to read one of the newer comics they had found. 

Right now, they were staying in a old farmhouse, far away from the city. It was Rhodey and Clint’s idea to take a breather; for hopefully a few days longer than they usually stayed. Which, Thor was silently thanking the lord for.

They had cleaned out the main house earlier, and the blonde found himself hoping they could stay. Yearning for a safe place to retreat to—and didn’t this seem _great?_

Thor looked around the bigger house, expecting to find Bruce in the reading room, or in one of the less popular room. It was funny to him, really. He, naturally, drifted towards where everyone else was, finding comfort in the louder areas. The older teenager seemed to be the exact opposite, enjoying the quieter places, and his own thoughts. 

Walking across the halls, Thor got lost in the decorations and details on the wall.

Throughout the entire house, there was no family pictures, only nails or holes in the walls where they used to be. 

Usually, when they crashed in homes; there was old pictures, reminders of the old habitants. But—now, there was nothing.

Thor thought that maybe the home owners took their things and left, wanting to keep to their roots… He found himself hoping they were alive.

While he remained distracted, Peter dashed across the hallway, giggling like any other young, innocent child. Tony chased after the kid, grinning like there wasn’t anything wrong in the world. 

It seemed to bring the blonde back down to earth, making him yearn even more.

Maybe, he thought—if we stayed here, Loki, Wanda and Peter could grow up in a good environment.

_Ah, the naïve and optimistic boy is back at it again…_

Smiling to himself, Thor made his way down the stairs, still searching around for his friend. 

He spotted his father; Bucky, and Loki, digging through a board game closet. 

That sight, seemed to seal the deal for him.

They had been here one night—and they were already _living_. Far more than they had for the past five months.

Thor turned, walking his way into the reading room.

Oddly, he was greeted with an empty area. The shelves and the desk were covered in dust, and the useless computer sat, untouched for a long time. 

Thor hummed, choosing to step aside for only a moment. He had hoped to find yet another book, to bring to Bruce or even Loki. 

Astro-Physics… Long, complex looking math… (just the sight of it made his eyes hurt) Oh, abnormal psychology. He pocketed that book, remembering how Bruce found the topic interesting. Personally, he did too—Both of his parents being soldiers, and Bucky being diagnosed with PTSD, he thought it was helpful to learn more about it... his father always had nightmares, and he wanted to help, just like Steve did.

Picking out one more book; one on philosophy this time. 

That one was… just for him.

Turning around, Thor glanced out the large window, where the desk and the impractical laptop sat.

All around the farm laid wide, unattended land—trees off in the distance, small ponds and unattended stables and barns laid scattered around. 

Something caught his eye—running off into the distance, a familiar backpack thrown over the figure’s shoulders. He was facing away, but there was no mistaking the brown curls and awkward stature.

“Bruce…?”

_What Is he doing? Does he want to leave? Why would he,_ Thor wondered. It was like their own little slice of paradise—why would Bruce be voluntarily running off, back into hell? 

Well, obviously… He couldn’t let him go _alone._

Thor couldn’t stand the thought of him not coming back... The thought was nauseating. Everyone was still dealing with Christine and Pietro's death... How could they move on without anyone else?

Thor chewed on his bottom lip, looking back at the closed door behind him, and the bag in his hands.

_A switchblade, a machete, two books, an apple, and two bottles of water…_

He could… be okay with that, right...?

_Oh, screw it!_

Impulsively, Thor walked over to the window, climbing up onto the desk to reach it easier. 

After struggling with the old, stubborn locks, they finally popped open, and Thor jumped out the window. He was on the first floor, so it wasn't a very big fall at all.

He wasn’t—too far… Thor was a faster runner, and he was sure he could catch up quick.

Taking a long, deep breath, the blonde sprinted after the older teenager, not thinking about the consequences.

Unsurprisingly, he caught up fast.

Bruce had slowed down as he reached the trees, trying to catch his breath. Of course, he had heard Thor coming—a part of him expected the younger teenager to chase after him like a lost puppy. Not that he minded...

“Go back.”

Bruce demanded, his hands on his knees. 

“No, I should come with you—Jesus, you’re… extremely out of shape, to be a survivor in the apocalypse.”

“Shut up.” 

He wheezed, knowing damn well it was true.

“I just need some time away from everything, Thor, alright? Just a few hours. Half a day, at the most.”

“But we just got here.”

“Still. I can see it in everyone’s faces. They want to stay there.”

“You don’t?”

“I dunno, Thor. Has a weird vibe…”

The brunette shrugged, looking back at the old farmhouse.

“What do you mean, it’s great—”

“Yeah, but how long does it last?”

That… stumped him. He wasn’t sure what to say, but he didn’t want to doubt that place. He wanted to have that _hope._

“Just… let me come with you. In case anything happens, okay?”

Thor practically begged, his eyebrows pressed together in concern.

After a long pause, Bruce silently nodded, and turned, beginning to make his way back into the wooded area.

After taking one last look at their temporary home behind them, Thor started to walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm so so sorry for the wait! Remember, I live off of comments and feedback, so gimme! Love you all!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Thanks for reading! Feedback and suggestions are encouraged! I plan to develop more relationships and characters further, so look forward to that!


End file.
